


Couldn't Give a Flying Fuck

by skybeep



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Funerals, I don't really write smut so sorry if y'all expect an extended very graphic scene, M/M, Takes place during season one, awkward phonecall, the hannigram is very one-sided lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 13:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4481768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybeep/pseuds/skybeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with falling asleep on a stranger's shoulder and ends fairly well.<br/>Despite the funeral, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Couldn't Give a Flying Fuck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saji](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saji/gifts).



Last minute flights were almost impossible to get first class seating in.

  
Hannibal had learned this too many times over the years, and it had him always ordering tickets about a month ahead of time precisely because of this issue, but, alas, circumstances weren't quite as understanding of things like advance planning and comfort. Hannibal hadn't even intended on leaving the house this weekend, much less flying to Europe, but, alas, here he was.

  
Sitting in economy with a crying child two seats behind him and the vague smell of too much flatulence in a confined space. He would have normally sat back and slept through this, but, with Frozen loudly playing from a laptop at the seat in front of him and the general enthusiasm with which this was accepted, Hannibal didn't think he'd be getting much shut-eye.

  
What a shame.

  
A sigh and he glanced to his left, taking in the scent of the stranger next to him: actually pleasant, as it was something warm with undertones that smelled like vanilla extract. The vague smell of ethanol clung to the man, long since washed off. Likely worked with it recently.

  
The one on his right, across the aisle, was a smaller woman who smelled strongly of a fruity perfume. Something meant to mimic candy, clearly, but the strong smell of strawberry and sweetness was a bit nauseating after sitting through an hour of it assaulting his nostrils. More pleasant than the overall obvious smell of the plane, but still not the best. They hadn't even left the tarmac yet, either, due to delays, and it was already getting on his nerves.

  
Hannibal reached forward and adjusted the _Skymall_ magazine of the seat in front of him, moving it a centimeter to the left and pushing the right side down at the same time to make it perfectly center and upright.

  
It was another half hour before they were up in the air. It was almost dark, now, the sun setting as they had took off into the sky and flown away from the horizon where the sun was setting. Before long, they were over nothing but open ocean in every direction. Before much longer than that, the sky was pitch dark and it seemed vaguely to Hannibal that they had fled the sunset. He glanced down at his book and resisted the urge to sigh as Frozen was restarted -- it had already become apparent to him that the person watching it intended to do so on repeat for the entire flight at this point.

  
A gentle pressure against his shoulder and Hannibal looked over.

  
The man on his left had fallen asleep on his shoulder. Hannibal considered shrugging him off and letting the man sway to sleep against the window to his own left instead of on the stranger next to him, but the curious part of him wondered what might happen if he allowed it.

  
After all, the stranger was a fairly attractive man without a wedding ring on his finger and he looked vaguely like Will Graham, what with his attached earlobes and scruffy face and slightly curled hair. Around the same age, too, which was still a few years younger than himself. Why not let himself entertain what could be, what might happen?

  
Thoughts of six or seven different endings trailed through Hannibal's mind in parts and pieces for the next three or so hours.

  
Over that period of time, Hannibal had used the sparse lighting of the plane to view the stranger's face, drawing it a few times in his sketchbook before he had gotten every angle he could remember or draw from observing it. He'd also gotten a better smell of the man since he was close, and he'd checked the carry-on sitting in the man's lap for a name. No luck there, but he did discover that this stranger used no aftershave. Just an electric razor and vaguely lavender-scented shampoo without conditioner.

  
Then his shoulder started getting damp. The corners of Hannibal's lips quirked down in distaste, and he decided that observation time was over. Most of the plane was asleep so it was all fairly private and he didn't look too strange, but this was too much.

  
Hannibal gently nudged at the stranger. "Pardon me," he said, at a volume just loud enough that it should register but not wake those around them. The man grunted and shifted, pressing his face into Hannibal's lapel, and he deeply inhaled. A beat.

  
"Oh, _bloody hell_..." The man sat up, seeming a bit disoriented. His hair was amuss from sleeping on Hannibal's shoulder, and saliva was smeared out of the corner of his mouth over his chin.

  
A survey of the situation.

  
"Apologies."

  
Hannibal couldn't help but note that the man's eyes were as blue as Will's were.

  
"It's not a problem," Hannibal replied, voice quieter. He flashed a small smile to show that he meant no harm in waking the man up, though the man had seemed to notice the small puddle of drool that had accumulated on Hannibal's suit as he was wiping the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief.

  
"That's awful embarrassing."

  
"It can be our secret."

  
That earned him a soft chuckle. "Please," the man said. A beat, as Hannibal was examined, the gaze lingering on his face a few spare moments after, and the man put out a hand. "Antony Dimmond."

  
Hannibal took his hand and gave it a firm shake. "Dr. Hannibal Lecter," he replied.

  
"Danish accent, or something else?"

  
"Something else."

  
"Ah, hell. Don't tell me-- I want to say Polish, then?"

  
"Lithuanian."

  
Antony huffed out a laugh, quietly letting out, "I said not to tell me, you _cock_ \--!"

  
"You're very English."

  
"Also on a flight to England."

  
"It's obvious even without this flight's destination in mind, Mr. Dimmond," Hannibal told him, a vague smile on his face. They were chatting quietly enough to not disturb other passengers, so he didn't mind carrying on a conversation. It made time pass more quickly, at least, and Mr. Dimmond was decently entertaining. Not rude, at least.

  
Antony huffed, but he didn't seem genuinely upset. He just shook his head. "What _is_ a Lithuanian doing on a flight from Baltimore to London, hm?"

  
"Attending a funeral, unfortunately. A good friend I used to work with passed."

  
A beat. "Ah. As am I. Wouldn't be for a man who used to teach at Johns Hopkins, would it?"

  
Now that was a surprising coincidence. Hannibal didn't recognize the man -- must be someone that Dr. Sarno had met after moving to England a decade or so back.

  
"It would."

  
Antony smiled slightly. "Well, glad to know that I've already made a fool of myself for the occasion even before I got my hands on the champagne..."

  
"Falling asleep on a flight this late isn't very foolish."

  
"Falling asleep on a stranger and soaking his nice suit jacket is, though. How did you meet Vincent?"

  
"I was a student of his and grew up to write a few papers with him. And you?"

  
"Oh, my brother worked with him; he's a professor as well, and the two got along like a house on fire, unfortunately. We hosted the old man a long while ago when he first visited England to do some research at Oxford over a sabbatical -- seems he decided to relocate after doing that two or three times."

  
Hannibal just nodded at that, thinking over if he knew any Dimmonds at Hopkins. None. Perhaps Mr. Dimmond's brother was one at Oxford who had simply been generous because the two of them had gotten along.

  
"I haven't worked with him for quite a long time."

  
A comment that gained silence. Hannibal assumed the conversation was over, given Antony glanced away and looked out the window. He glanced at the back of the seat in front of him and readjusted the _Skymall_ issue. It had gotten jostled when the woman in front of him had reclined her seat back an inch or two so she could sleep.

  
"Neither have I. I suppose we'll be hearing that quite a lot, given how old he was." A pause. Antony seemed to want to get off that subject, given that he followed up the comment by asking, "Are you a medical doctor, or a professor like he was?"

  
"A medical doctor. I've moved on from surgery to psychiatry."

  
A glance at his hands, his eyes briefly running over the veins and up to where they disappeared under Hannibal's sleeves -- and Antony commented, "You _certainly_ seem to have nice enough hands for surgery." That came with a smile.

  
Hannibal gave him a somewhat amused look. "And what do you do, Mr. Dimmond?"

  
"I craft words."

  
"A writer or a poet?"

  
"Poet," Antony answered, looking a bit proud of himself. "Mind you, not a very productive one, but I've written a few gems over the years. Shame poor Vincent never had much talent for writing. You've collaborated with him, you know what I mean. It's so _dry_..." And, at the lack of a response from Hannibal -- just a glance and the tiniest quirk of an eyebrow -- Antony followed that up with, "Oh, you know it was terrible, you're just too polite to say. Blink if you agree that it was terrible and I'll leave it be."

  
A blink. Antony grinned.

  
"I knew it," he said. "And count on Vincent to make us all get stuck in economy for his last-minute death, hm?" Antony could tell by the clothes Hannibal was wearing that economy wasn't likely to be his first choice.

  
"Unfortunately," Hannibal replied.

  
"Unfortunately," Antony repeated.

  
A brief moment of pause as Hannibal absorbed the fact that he was being once-overed yet again. Either he was paying too much attention or Antony was hoping he'd pick up on it.

  
"Staying in your house for your visit, then?"

  
"Returning permanently," Antony answered. "I think that I've spent quite long enough in the States for the time being. I don't have much reason to return for a while."  
Another glance-over. Surely he wasn't imagining things.

  
"Death often invokes something in us. Tell me, Mr. Dimmond, have you ever had the urge to spit in death's face after a funeral?"

  
"Who hasn't?"

 

* * *

  
" _God_ \-- Oh, _god_..."

  
Hannibal's fingers curled, his hands balling up into fists and gripping the sheets as a result. He just about bit into the pillow, but Antony had already coaxed him into making noise enough times that he knew better.

  
Close, _close_ , but not quite.

  
The grip on his hips loosened up as Antony withdrew, Hannibal letting out a grunt of protest. He wasn't finished--

  
After the light sound of the condom and its wrapper being thrown into the rubbish bin, Hannibal felt lips against his shoulders which trailed down his back, Antony's palms lightly pressing into his sides as his fingertips ghosted over Hannibal's skin. That got a sigh of relief, but Hannibal wasn't quite sated.

  
"Don't be impatient, love. I'm not going to--"

  
A _blip beep_ came from the nightstand, and Antony gave it a confused look. Hannibal reached out and glanced at the text.

  
"Hm."

  
"Anything to worry about?"

  
"No. Go on."

  
And he did. Antony just shrugged and leaned down to resume mouthing at the wide expanse of Hannibal's back, a hand creeping around to start stroking the man since he'd cut him off by coming a bit too early. Difficult not to get excited when this was the first handsome stranger he'd brought home in a while -- at least, Hannibal was guessing that was the case. Antony's brother had given him quite the strange look during dinner when it was clear Hannibal wouldn't be leaving after, after all.

 

* * *

  
A hand plastered over his mouth, Antony was having a difficult time not bursting out into a fit of chuckles and waking up all the surrounding passengers. His eyes still shone with amusement as he looked at Hannibal.

  
"Then he had to ask-- "Oh, _goodness_ , me, is that a **_frog_**?" about the amphibian..." Hannibal continued, and Antony elbowed him to indicate he should pause for a moment.

  
After Antony collected himself, he elbowed Hannibal again. "Tell me after we land, won't you? We've only ten minutes left and it sounds like there's a quite bit more to this..."

  
"Following me out, then?"

  
"Following you? Ha. No, we'll happen to be going the same way for a bit is all. We'll have time. I assume you have luggage -- look at that suit and tie, not as if you have a black set in that little carry-on of yours."

  
"Just late dinner and personal effects."

  
"Thank you for sharing that, by the way." A nudge. "Quite good. Strange, but good."

  
That earned a small quirk of the lips in a way that Antony clearly interpreted as a grin, given he gave one in return.

  
"Why don't you have breakfast with me?" Antony asked. "Surely it's better than whatever continental breakfast you have waiting for you from room service at whatever hotel you'll be staying at. Not too unbearable either, am I?"

  
"You certainly aren't."

  
"Breakfast, then?"

 

* * *

  
"Do you know where to feel for a femoral pulse, Mr. Dimmond?"

  
"I think it might be more proper for us to be on a first name basis now, Dr. Lecter."

  
"My apologies. Do you, Antony?"

  
Antony's fingers moved to just where the femoral was, yes, but he pressed down into the muscle. Hannibal gently moved Antony's fingers so that it pressed the artery against a more solid surface inside of him and could be felt.

  
_Thump, thump, thump, thump..._

  
"I think you might be enjoying me taking your pulse than you should be, _Hannibal_ ," Antony observed, a small quirk of a smirk on his lips.

  
Hannibal decided to answer, "I may be."

  
A beat, and Antony's fingers stayed in place as his head dipped down, kissing and mouthing at Hannibal's thighs. That earned him a satisfied sigh, Hannibal's fingers threading through his hair. Hannibal would kiss him if it were easier.

  
"Such a _good_ boy," Hannibal mumbled out, and that only seemed to encourage Antony. Amusingly enough.

  
The quiet moment between them was broken as Hannibal's phone rung. Antony froze, mid-suck, and Hannibal glanced over at his phone. He picked it up, patting Antony on the head and nudging him to indicate he should keep going. Antony did, albeit warily.

  
"Dr. Hannibal Lecter. How may I help you?" Hannibal asked, though the ringtone told him full well who it was. Any other patient and he'd let them go to the ' _I'm out of the country for a few days_ ' voicemail. He'd already gotten a few panicked calls when he made it clear he would be unavailable for a weekend he didn't have any appointments scheduled during anyway. Availability being restricted seemed to alarm his yuppie patients, at least. How dare he.

  
A hesitation, and then, in a shaky voice, Will Graham started, "I know you're out of the country. Sorry. Can you take this call--?"

  
"Ah, Will. It isn't a problem. What seems to be your problem?"

  
Antony raised a brow, but he kept on with what he was doing anyway. None of his business. He just quietly nosed into Hannibal's pubic hair, kissing at the base of his cock.

  
"I don't... ah..." Will seemed fairly uncertain of himself. More than that, though, he seemed completely unnerved. "I ended up in the middle of Boston earlier today. I'm not sure how I got there."

  
Hannibal let out a contemplative hum, as if he found that surprising or troubling or -- anything other than completely expected, really. What with half his brain inflamed, Will wasn't going to be functioning all too well on his own for quite a while. Antony didn't need to know about any of that and it was too early for Hannibal to let this opportunity slide.

  
"Troubling."

  
"No shit. When are you coming back? I was hoping to..."

  
"I can make an appointment for you." He was tempted to invite Will to dinner, but perhaps not with a man nuzzling into his groin and stroking up his thigh. That had him tempted to let out a sound, but Hannibal was ever too professional.

  
Even when Antony seemed to have the wonderful idea of going down on him while he was still on the phone.

  
Hannibal swallowed audibly hard, accepting the sensation and moving on. He stroked through Antony's hair as Will told him, "Thank you, Dr. Lecter. I'm just..." A pause. _Scared out of my wits,_ Hannibal was willing to bet was the end of that.

  
"Tuesday morning, or is an evening time better?"

  
"Evening. I teach."

  
"Seven thirty in my home, perhaps?"

  
"In your home."

  
"It will be awful late. I do have other patients."

  
A beat. "Right. Sorry. I'll bring a bottle of wine."

  
"Don't feel obligated." Hannibal was curt with that one partially because Antony had decided to be a pain and slurp around him at that moment, continuing to bob over him moments after. A sound built in the back of Hannibal's throat, but it was promptly swallowed. Not with Will on the phone.

  
"I don't," Will said. There was a pause as the man likely contemplated friendliness. "How's Europe?"

  
"Delightful..."

  
And that had Antony grinning around him, a bit more enthused. Hannibal had to take even breaths. Not with Will on the phone, as much as he wanted to. Part of the reason Hannibal was even lying in this bed with Mr. Dimmond, after all...

  
Will seemed a bit awkward nonetheless. "That's, uh, yeah, good." A beat. "Seven thirty then."

  
"Seven th- _ah_."

  
_Devil_ , Hannibal cursed Antony, who had decided to get a bit more hands-on. Hannibal shifted his legs apart to make it easier, since he hardly minded, enjoyed it even, but he'd still rather not make a fool of himself to Will. Of all people, not Will.

  
Unfortunately.

  
Hannibal's jaw went slack as Antony worked at him, eyes shut. He put his head back and breathed, stroking through Antony's hair as the man just swallowed around him. Quite pleasant. Meanwhile, though...

  
"Dr. Lecter?"

  
A pause as Hannibal collected himself, a bit hazy. Antony was smirking up at him now. "My apologies," he said. "I got a bit distracted. I'll be seeing you at seven thirty on Tuesday evening, Will. Call me if anything changes."

  
"Right." A beat. "I'll talk to you later, Dr. Lecter."

  
"Of course."

  
Then Will hung up. Antony chuckled as Hannibal put his phone aside, asking, "Now wasn't that exciting?" And Hannibal couldn't argue -- he quite liked it, even though Will was likely keyed in on what was happening from that slight slip in composure. The man was far too good at constructing scenarios, after all. Maybe that construction would just help him by Tuesday.

  
With no reply, Antony sat up and propped himself up on his elbows a bit. "Coffee?"

  
Hannibal stroked through his hair one last time. "Please."

 

* * *

  
Fittingly, it was raining. Characteristic of England, too, Antony Dimmond quietly informed him as they proceeded into the semicircle of friends and family members gathered inside the church to observe Vincent's dressed-up corpse and give their final respects. Hannibal gave a single pink rose to symbolize appreciation, spent a moment to look at his old friend, and moved on. Antony ended up dumping half a bouquet into the growing pile.

  
When the proceedings moved outside to bury the man, Hannibal ended up sharing an umbrella with Mr. Dimmond and staying relatively close to him. The group walked across the grass through the cemetary, headed after the casket to the pre-dug hole in the ground not too far away.

  
"Funerals," Hannibal quietly said. "They often make us want sex, don't they? Spitting in the eye of death, spiting it, through copulation. It makes us feel more alive."

  
Antony glanced over. "So you started mentioning on the flight here," he said.

  
A pause as the group walked and a pair got within hearing range. Hannibal would rather not get scandalized looks from strangers over this.

  
"And what do you think about what I said, now that we're at a funeral and you've had time to think on it?"

  
"Oh, you're right, I never doubted that, it's just an odd thing to say."

  
A hum. "It's true, though."

  
"It is."

  
The proceeding went on quietly from there. They arrived at the gravesite, their dear friend's name and lifespan and a title of ' _dear husband, dedicated teacher_ ' underneath it all for him on the gravestone. The casket was lowered, all the final words said save for a priest reading about how dust must return to dust.

  
"It's _mud_ with this bloody weather," Antony said from next to him, almost so quiet Hannibal couldn't hear.

  
The casket was covered, buried. When it was all said and done, the group remained for a few moments before they began to depart. Antony stood long enough just staring at the freshly-broken ground that they were a bit behind the group when Hannibal nudged him to encourage him to leave.

  
Antony explained, as they turned away, "I haven't been to a funeral in quite a while."

  
"It's alright," Hannibal replied, gently, and started off with Antony by his side under the umbrella. It was still raining and the procession of dark figures with dark umbrellas certainly didn't help the mood. Their late friend would have enjoyed such a fitting, cinematic end. It had an extra layer of finality to it, after all.

  
As they walked, Antony glanced over. His hand brushed Hannibal's backside, and Hannibal just about thought the hand was going to remain or squeeze, but Antony seemed to take the more classy approach here.

  
"Dinner?" he asked.

  
"Certainly."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Love you, Perry.


End file.
